


Love Always, Paige Angel

by PunkJunkie



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Coping, Foggy is still mad at Matt, Karen Page surviving, Karen page POV, Karen writes, Paige Angel, Post s2 Daredevil, Post-Defenders, Slice of Life, So is Karen, The result of Matt Murdocking friendships, Trish Talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:57:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunkJunkie/pseuds/PunkJunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short bit about Karen writing a column for the Bulletin and dealing with life, vigilantes,and the craziness of the events in Daredevil season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Why not?” Karen demanded point-blank, standing resolute in the middle of Ellison’s office, shoulders squared, determined to get an answer this time. “I came from a law office, I have connections, I know how these things work,” she implored, attempting to convince him, yet again.

She’d been at the Bulletin two months – well, nine weeks and two days, to be exact, and all she had been assigned so far were classified formats, engagement, announcements, coverage for a health fair, and a filler piece on the NYC storefronts. Not exactly the hard-hitting news she thought she had signed up for. 

“This is a beat. A _crime_ beat. You have no experience in journalism; true, you’re great at research and decent at investigating, but you don’t have the training, you haven’t been in it enough. Give it time, you have to work your way into it,” Ellison was stubborn, but his point was a fair one, as per usual.

With “Ask Allison” leaving for the Inquirer, he had decided to move her into writing something she was “naturally suited for”. After relentlessly pleading, she had figured this was finally when she would take up Ben’s mantle, not be the newest gossip girl. To tell the truth, the thought of publishing her opinions for the world to judge looms over her like her own personal raincloud made of newsprint, though she wouldn’t dare admit it.

“Be fortunate you’re not writing obituaries this week,” he added, as if that was supposed to be a consolation to her. “You’ll be great at this, I know you will. You’ve got a strong voice, plenty to say, and 8 inches in the Sunday edition - go tell the world what they need to know,” and with that, before she could even think of protesting, Ellison grabbed a legal pad from his desk, glanced at his watch, and hurried out, leaving her still standing in the middle of his office, with her own insecurities crashing over her like waves at high tide. 

***

Stepping out into the bright afternoon sunlight of the city, she racks her brain as to how she’s going to possibly fill an editorial column with something that people care about. What do people really care about, the Kardashians? Politics? 

She’s always hearing how inspiration for writing should come from all around you, but if there was one thing that her life has been lately, it’s isolated. Even the last person she really confided in, Frank Castle, is in the wind. Vigilante types – she should’ve expected that they don’t stick around. Not that she’s really anything worth sticking around for.

Walking past the building that housed the former Nelson and Murdock office, her brain kicks into overdrive wondering what Matt was up to, how Foggy was. They were her support system at a time she desperately needed it, and they got close quickly, especially her and Matt. Now that they’re not around, Karen finds herself alone; well, not quite alone – she has damn near constant anxiety, and it feels like the tiniest things send back a swarm of feelings she’d much rather not feel. A Spanish classified ad, a soldier in uniform on the sidewalk, the block between East fourth and sixth streets; it would never quite be the same things that brought it on, but they would always invariably have the same outcome: fear. 

Turning her key in the lock, Karen slides into her apartment, kicks off her pumps, and heads straight for the gin, dropping her purse on the floor before settling in on the couch. She looks around her apartment – she had thought of finding another place after everything that’s happened there, but she always manages to talk herself out of it, convincing herself that it’s not so bad and that she can deal with the ghosts that linger inside the walls.

Downing the first, she hesitated slightly before refilling her glass – looks like she’ll be drinking dinner…again. These days, it’s one of the best ways she’s found to curb the terror she feels from being alone, even though she knows that alone is what’s probably best, it still stings. Most nights, the loneliness burns more than the liquor. 

With the alcohol overriding most of her thoughts for the moment, she picks up her phone and pulls up an all too familiar face in her contacts – Matthew Murdock, complete with a picture she snapped of him standing in the middle of the office, with a slightly exasperated expression, but still with that stupid charming grin of his on his face. Oh, how she missed that face, his voice, his laugh.

She kept scrolling – she wasn’t nearly drunk enough for that phone call, at least not tonight. Her thumb hesitated over another familiar face – a friendlier one, or at least one she was less pissed at.

Refreshing her drink, she taps the screen and dials Foggy.

*****

Late afternoon, and Foggy Nelson just settled back in his office after a day in court defending people he’s not entirely sure he wants to represent; he sighs heavily and figures that’s just the way life goes. We can’t all be Matthew “creepy heartbeat listener” Murdock. Foggy was sorting through a fresh stack of research, trying to remember a time when work wasn’t actively soul-sucking.

It was times like these that he actually missed the late night research-fests with Matt and Karen – the research and work had seemed less tedious with them around. Pushing up his sleeves, Foggy starts to dig into the pile of papers in front of him, when the chirping of his phone pulls him out of it. 

“Franklin Nelson,” Foggy answers out of reflex, not even glancing at the screen first.

“Foggy, hey, it’s Karen.”

His heart skips a beat. Was she in trouble? It had seemed like a lifetime since he had heard her voice – “Karen! Hey! Everything alright?”

“Yeah, oh yeah, just figured it’d been awhile and thought maybe it’d be nice to catch up,” Karen quickly responded - a little too quickly to be totally okay, in Foggy’s opinion.

He leaned back in his chair, his legs stretching, pushing himself away from the desk; the back of his chair made a solid thud as it bumped into the wall.  
“It has been too long. How have you been?” Foggy suspected that he wouldn’t get an honest answer to this right now.

“Not too bad, just life, you know? Anyway, how are you, at your big fancy law firm?” Karen deflected.

Nice redirection, Foggy thought, she would have made a good lawyer.

“Life’s good, got a fancy office, lots of work … nobody’s paid me in pie lately though, which I have to admit, I kind of miss,” Foggy quipped.

Karen chuckled, “Foggy, you know that baked goods aren’t an actual currency for legal services, right?”

“Hey, a guy can dream, right?” he joked. Though he thoroughly enjoyed getting compensated in real paychecks, there was something about the genuine gratitude of clients giving what they had and from their hearts that he missed.

He waits a beat. “But seriously, how are you doing?”

Karen hesitates – the silence on the other end of the line starts to grow, alarming Foggy with each passing moment, and telling him far more than her words had. Just as he starts to open his mouth to fill the silence, she finally responds:

“I, uh, I’m…” She stumbled over her words, trying to find where to start. “I’m terrified, Foggy, I thought it would get better once I wasn’t in the fray of it with the vigilantes and bad guys, hearing about how awful everything is, but it’s not. I close my eyes and panic when the memories come flooding back. And it's not getting better, and it’s not going away.”

Everything he had been working on before instantly vanished from his mind – Karen needed help, and he didn’t know how, but he wanted so badly to help, to make it all go away for her.

“Oh Karen, I’m sorry…” Foggy started.

“It’s okay, I just, I’m really sick of this feeling I can’t shake, being a nervous trembling mess all the time,” she cut in. She sounded exhausted – not that he could blame her.

Listening to her, he knew she had seen some crazy shit, hell, they all had. But the thought of it affecting Karen to this point made Foggy’s heart drop. This wasn’t the Karen he knew – she was different, there was something in her voice, her pattern of conversation – she wasn’t the same as he remembered.

“I try to sleep, and I can get to sleep alright, but what’s the point when I know I’ll just be up in an hour, terrified of the ghosts trapped in my memory, and wake up in way worse shape than I was before attempting sleep. This, it’s not me, and I…I don’t know how to fix it, how to get back, before…” She trailed off, an audible catch in her voice.

“Karen, It’s going to take time, maybe talking to someone? Keeping busy, taking your mind off things in the mean time?” he suggested, wondering how people actually cope with being shot and kidnapped, dealing with vigilantes, practically in their own backyard. 

“I think the booze is doing a pretty good job of that one,” she responded.

So she had been drinking. He guessed that that answered his question of her coping methods, though this didn’t do a thing to help Foggy’s growing worry. Was he witnessing the self-destruction of Karen Page? Well, it wouldn’t exactly be something she would have had to deal with if it weren’t for Daredevil and Punisher and all these vigilantes who take the law into their own hands and wrap her up in their mess. He made a mental note to add Karen to the list of reasons why he’s angry at Matt. 

Maybe if he’d tried harder, actively kept Karen away from Frank’s case, if Matt hadn’t abandoned them for his bullshit heroics, maybe Karen wouldn’t be like this. She’d probably be better off without having gotten involved with Matt Murdock, though now that she had, he can’t exactly tell if she really is better off without him. 

Karen was starting to remind him of the headstrong PI who freelances at the firm – Jessica something or other. Though, Jessica is a lot more gruff and has about all the same sweetness as a surly Russian circus bear that’s been provoked, but there was still that strong, stubborn, don’t-take-shit-from-anyone quality they both shared. He admired that, in a strange way. His assistant had told him about her story – functioning alcoholic would be putting it way too mildly, though he honestly couldn’t say he’d blame her.

“You know, there’s a girl here at the firm, the new one, who went through some shit. I don’t know what exactly, but she’s been this way for awhile, and she tries to drink whatever memories away too,” Foggy started, it not even occurring to him that he was digging his own grave in this conversation.

Silence. “…Uh, you’re comparing me to your new alcoholic secretary?”

Shit. Wrong thing to say. May as well at least find where I was going with it, Foggy thought. “No, I mean, she’s not my secretary,” Oops. “I mean, she’s gotten strong, and angry, and mean, and scary. She pushes everyone away and spends, from what I can tell, most of her time drinking alone. Karen, you’re strong, but sweet, and not like that – I could tell from the first time we stepped into that interrogation room. Even Matt could see it.” Shit. Wrong thing again – why did he have to bring Murdock into this?

“You really think so, Foggy?” Karen’s voice came through the receiver meekly and quietly.

“Yeah, I do,” Foggy replied with all the raw honesty he had. “And I care about you Karen, you’re my friend, and I can’t just stand by and watch this city destroy you. It kills me watching it define your life, dictate your moves. I don’t know when, or how, or if things will ever be okay again, but I don’t want to lose you too.” Foggy was not expecting any of that to come tumbling out of his mouth, much less with any sense of coherency. But he was honest. And that’s all you can be, in life, especially with your friends. 

As the thought popped into his head, he hastily added, “and from the sound of it, you don’t want to lose yourself either. You’re still in control, Karen, not the fear, not the city, not anyone else. You.”

Was it too much? Did he lecture her? Foggy started doubting his little speech, fearing that it would set her off, or send her into a flurry of emotions. She seemed rational, but he never could quite figure her out. Apparently she couldn’t either, right now. 

Her voice finally came after a several moments, wavering slightly, but sounding steadier than it had all conversation: “Thank you, Foggy.” 

***

After nearly a week consisting of writer’s block, panic attacks, more booze than food, and feeling woefully inadequate, it really was down to the wire for Karen. She’d been at the Bulletin office all day – she came in early that morning thinking that maybe the bustle of a full deadline day would help motivate and inspire her, but, no such luck. 

Ellison had given her a couple ideas – mostly writing about what she knows; he suggested she could write about the Punisher, do an op-ed on the legal state of Hell’s Kitchen, or even write an editorial on a social issue – however, each time she would think of an idea, she couldn’t seem to actually write anything. And now she was in trouble. The column wasn’t exactly her choice, but it was an opportunity for her to get her voice out there – maybe make a difference, change some minds. The more she came to terms with getting her own column, the better she felt about it…well, until it came to actually writing it. That part still worried her, especially now that she could count the hours she had left to do it on one hand. 

With the all too familiar feeling of anxious uneasiness creeping into her chest once again, she walks across the mostly empty office to the kitchenette and pours herself a cup of coffee, mostly out of habit by this point, not because she actually needed the caffeine to stay awake. As the clock ticked closer to Sunday deadline, the more the anxiety twisted up her insides and settled in. Ellison had picked the wrong person; she had picked the wrong career – Why did she think she could do this? She knew how to answer phones and reconcile accounting ledgers, and research public records; what made her think that she was qualified to share her thoughts with the world?

She glances around – aside from the intern playing solitaire at the breaking news desk in the corner and shadows moving around in the lit-up layout office, everyone was gone. They had finished their assignments, proofread everything, and long since left. They had other places to be and other things to worry about, unlike her. 

Back at her desk cradling a mug of coffee that’s more aromatic than flavorful, she lets out an arduous sighs as she tries to think through how to start. There’s so much to say, and yet she stares blankly at the old, beat-up keyboard that the return button sticks on and the space bar clacks noisily on – stuck, at an impasse of words. 

She sat and thought, trying to let her mind wander in a productive way, reflecting on the people she knew and considered the strongest, in spite of whatever life threw at them: her parents, Ben, Frank, Matt… Matt, “Daredevil, the man without fear.” Karen rolled her eyes at the thought – Matt Murdock, the same man who pushes people away in fear of making a mess of everything, the same man who is terrified of losing everyone he cares about, has been given the honestly laughable moniker.

Struck with a rapidly growing idea, she set down her coffee and tugged her keyboard closer:

> “Fear. It effects everyone in a multitude of different ways; it’s what twists up your insides and puts that knot in your throat; like an elephant curled up on your chest causing shallow breaths that come in gasps, causing you to wonder if it will ever go away, if it ever gets better. Why are we afraid? The worry of losing someone, being alone, dying, failing, trauma, past events, future events – point is, it doesn’t really matter what we’re afraid of, we all have our anxieties, what really matters is how we deal with it, how we use that fear.
> 
> Some people are desperate to rid themselves of it by any means necessary: alcohol, denial, meaningless companionship – anything to silence the demons and find even a brief sense of safe haven. Others embrace the fear, using it to fuel their passion, insecurities, and even hate. But there is no getting rid of it, not really. It never really goes away – it’s always with you; an ever present predator, always lurking, just waiting for an opportunity to sink its claws in, crippling you in an instant.
> 
> But some people, when fear takes hold of them, they take action. They see the things that terrify them and take it upon themselves to make it stop, to so something – anything. The ones who see the world for what it can be and offer themselves up as the catalyst for the betterment of society – they are the heroes we need.
> 
> Some feel that the way to conquer their fears is to punish those who do wrong; others feel that a more compassionate approach leads to a more productive path. Which is right? Should those who inflict pain and instill fear be stopped, or forgiven? Will either make the constant nightmare stop?
> 
> At the end of the day, we all just have to do what we believe in, and hope it actually makes a difference. We can’t always make the whole world a better place, but if we all don’t at least try to take action and better our little corner of it, then we let fear win.
> 
> There is no action more worth it than spreading the hope that things will get better; maybe if we all keep believing it, one day they will be better. We can’t give up, can’t let fear beat us – fight the fear, and never lose hope that you can make things better.”

Karen read carefully over her work, pausing to occasionally move a comma. Swirling the last dregs of coffee left in her mug, she downed it, pausing briefly before adding her name to the bottom. 

The thought of becoming Karen Page, the Bulletin’s new gossip gal, suddenly overwhelmed her; all of New York knowing her by name, enemies, everyone knowing exactly where to find her – all previous anonymity lost. She quickly obliterated all mention of her name, pummeled the save button, and sent it off. 

Panicking, she sprints weaves through the desks and storms into the layout office. Looking over the shoulder of a designer hunched over the computer screen, Ellison stares up at her as Karen bursts in the room. 

“Problems, Miss Page?” he asks, in response to her harried demeanor. 

“Can I be ‘Ask Allison’?” she begged, forgetting all decorum in a moment of sheer manic frenzy.

Ellison furrowed his brow, sensing where she was going with this. “You can’t be ‘Ask Allison’, because nobody’s asked you anything and that’s now the Inquirer’s column. Is your piece done?” 

“Yeah, it’s just waiting on the last line,” she replied, leaning against the door.

“And you want a signature, that’s what this is about?” Ellison surmised. She nodded.  
“I don’t care if you write it as ‘Sprinkles the Wonder Clown’. But you have three minutes to come up with a pen name and submit. Yours is the last puzzle piece we’re waiting on, Miss Page.” 

He meant it. Deadlines were absolute, and if you think he didn’t have a puff piece about puppies to drop in her place all ready to go if she missed it, you’d be dead wrong. 

Racing back to her computer, heels wildly clacking on the tile, she dove into her chair and stared at her keyboard. Frantically racking her brain for ideas, she remembered something Mrs. Cardenas had said to her once. She had called her an Angel. 

Resting her elbows on the edge of the desk, Karen ran her hands through her hair. Sure it was cheesy, but it was the best she had, and she was beyond out of time. Not putting a second more of thought into it, her fingers moved swiftly across the noisy keys. Save. Send. Done.

“Got it, Page. Looks good,” Ellison called from the other end of the office.

As she went to close her work, her eyes lingered on the last line:

“Love Always, Paige Angel”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I started with her essay at the end - it just kind of came out while writing one day, and I figured that it fit Karen's story.
> 
> \- I wanted to write something that showed Karen in real life dealing with the real life effects of her involvement in traumatic events, like getting shot at, threatened, hit by a truck, and witnessing so much death and how she copes with it after a little bit of time has passed.
> 
> \- Paige Angel was her radio pseudonym in the comics, and I thought it would be fitting.
> 
> \- If you like it, there may be more - possibly Karen being offered some time on Trish Talk, because that would be neat to explore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karen heads back to Vermont for the weekend, prompting musings and writings about home and her past.

Karen’s mouse hovers on an opened email – it has been four months now, and her “Paige Angel” column in the _Bulletin_ has grown, complete with reader letters asking for advice. “Wondering in Wanderlust” is asking her about leaving the city behind in search of something else, something less colored by the painful memories of the past. She sharply inhales and hesitates over the back button. She’s not sure she can deal with such a personal question – not in print, at least. Sighing, she stares out the window of the train speeding past the evergreen landscape of Vermont, carrying her closer to home with every second. 

When her mom had called about coming into town for her father’s birthday, she was hesitant – she had been back to visit exactly once since she moved to New York. Her parents always say they understand she’s busy, but what they don’t say is that they know the town is haunted for her now. They saw her behavior last time she visited, which was, quite frankly, the definition of a shit show; they thankfully didn’t press the issue of visiting since then. Until now. 

She knew her mom wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t a big deal – so, here she was, on a train, ready to spend the weekend in Fagan Corners, Vermont. Well, not quite sure if she was ready, but she can deal with this. Maybe. She turned her attention back to her laptop – she was not ready to deal with writing about it, not right now at least. Karen shut her computer and slid it into the padded sleeve of her bag. Maybe she’d write her column on the train ride back, besides, according to the time, they were set to arrive at the station soon. 

\---- 

It’s funny how you can look back and it seems like life turned on you in an instant. Relationships can implode with a few short sentences, people can be gone in a second; everything in life just seems so fragile and fleeting.

Karen Page remembered back fondly to what seemed like yesterday, the muggy east coast summer catapulting her back to practically another lifetime. The endless summer days spent lying on the lawn, or cliff jumping out at the lake, and the cool, lazy nights with friends piled into the back of the old faded red pickup truck that her brother was unbelievably proud of, despite being a banged-up stick shift. Driving out to the bluffs with some blankets and a bottle of cheap Canadian whiskey, they were all chatter about how they were going to make something of their lives and had everything planned out. So much for that one, Karen thought morosely, life’s bitter unfairness jarring her out of the past memory into reality, which was arguably more painful.

She could hear the grating voice of Nancy Grace blaring from the TV downstairs – as good as it was to see her parents, she couldn’t quite deal with all of it right now, so she told them she was going to turn in early. Karen shut the door to her old room, then froze in thought for a second before walking over and sliding the window open, wide. She smiled, her parents had never bothered replacing the screen in it – she had taken it out back when she was in high school; she and Kevin would sit on the bit of roof it opened onto and talk late into the nights about everything from cartoons to philosophy to bitching about their parents’ rules. 

Being back here, it stung. Karen crawled through the window and onto the roof; she leaned back and gazed up at the sky – the Vermont nights were a lot clearer than the smoggy city ones she’d gotten used to. 

Peeling her hair off the back of her neck allowing for the balmy evening breeze to cool her skin, Karen twists her hair neatly into a bun and sighs. How did things end up this way, were we really just that naive as teenagers to take for granted that we would all still be here, that we all still deserve to be here? Rolling her eyes, she silently answers her own question – yes, of course we were. Nobody expects to have the rug torn out from under them, much less the entire town you grew up in turn poisonous. Every curve of the only house she knew, the streets she learned to drive on, the faces that populate every single memory – now even the tiniest minute detail brings back a flood of memories, ghosts, and guilt; especially guilt. 

It doesn’t matter what triggers the floods of old memories and the fresh sting of feelings anymore – maybe the weather, maybe the siblings picking on each other on the sidewalk - it still rushes over her in new waves of guilt and grief every damn time. Everyone told her it would get better with time, that he was in a better place, that he would want her to move on. Karen rolled her eyes and shook her head at just the thought of such bullshit. 

The way she sees it, it doesn’t matter what he would have wanted, he’s dead. Gone. And the only thing he left is a slew of unanswered questions, all of which are too painful to go digging for, at least for right now, maybe forever. 

Honestly, she has no idea if time or moving on will ever make anything better, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t at least try. It’s why she moved to the city and doesn’t mention it to anyone – nobody needs to know the consequences she lives with. She doesn’t want pity, and if somebody tells her it’s not her fault again, she’s likely to scream. Karen knows that on paper, and in practically everybody else’s eyes, it’s not her fault; she quit trusting people when they say that though – she knows her guilt, and doesn’t need people to skew the situation and lie and make her feel better. We all have things we have to live with, she figures, this is hers. 

Besides, how does that conversation even come up? Karen sighed, she figured it was a lot like Matt’s vigilante activities – not exactly something that’s easy to drop into a regular, everyday conversation. She quickly hated herself for likening the two – of course they were different, Matt should have made the effort to come clean instead of continuing to lie to her, and Foggy too. It’s not like she can be angry at him for trying to make Hell’s Kitchen a better place, she’s too proud of him for that, but he didn’t have to lie to them to do it. That’s not what friends, or what whatever more they were, do to each other.

She knew that running away wasn’t a fix, just a band-aid attempting to cover a glaring mental trauma that was practically bleeding. Ignoring it and telling herself that everything was fine because she needed it to be wasn’t working for her anymore – maybe the time had come to actually face her feelings. 

The email she read earlier today – the one about leaving what you know behind because it’s haunted by unbearable memories, it’s been eating at her. Maybe she will print a response. She climbed back through the window and sat on her bed, opening her computer. The email was just how she left it – asking for advice on what to do to escape a city steeped in painful memories. Karen folded her legs under her and pulled her laptop on top of them.

>   
>  Dear "Wondering in Wanderlust" - The truth is that nobody tells you is that leaving is easy – taking just what you need, and walking away from all the crap you don’t, it’s a great feeling. The trap lies in going back. Once you get used to running, the harder it is to stop, the harder it becomes to return to that place, be it a city, an apartment, a person, or even a mentality. 
> 
> Maybe it’s a lie, and there is no going back, not really. Things change constantly, and they won’t ever be in that same spot just as they were again. The best we can do is try to move forward, even if that means not doing anything differently. Things change enough on their own; we can either accept the way they are now or fight them. Memories are painful, especially when they remind you that there is no chance of going back to how life was then, to the person you were then, in that moment.
> 
> I had someone tell me once that we can either learn a lesson in life and move on, or keep being put in the same situations until the knowledge finally beats its way through our thick skull. The real question in all of it isn’t how to escape painful memories, or whether or not to leave a city because of them, but what lesson is to be learned in all of this? How can we learn something and use it to move forward? 
> 
> I hope you find your lesson, be it here in the city or wherever you have to run away to – run away and join the circus to find it, if you have to – because at the end of the day, the demons don’t reside in one set location, they’re in your head. No matter where you run, there will always be different things that set off a flurry of the past. It’s terrifying, but it gets easier – the memories get easier each time they’re dredged up, and eventually, it gets easier to think about, to come to terms with.
> 
> The past is painful, and the future is a terrifying unknown – the present is somewhere in the middle, fueled by the pain, and unsure of the future. The uncertain part of the future is hope – there’s always the hope that there will be plenty of good times ahead that make the past a little easier to bear. That’s the trick though, you have to keep believing that things will get easier; the shine of the future doesn’t erase past darkness, but it can keep the path ahead illuminated so we can keep moving forward. 
> 
> Love Always, Paige Angel

Karen leaned back against the headboard and glanced over what she wrote – the words had just kind of leaped out of her brain. She wasn’t even sure if she was writing for the column or more for herself; it didn’t particularly matter aside from her feeling like a hypocrite for giving advice she was still figuring out herself. It was like the blind leading the blind, she thought, as she smirked at the fact that the only blind man she knew spent his nights leaping off of rooftops.

Though coming back here, seeing everyone again, was a whole new level of painful, she oddly felt a sense of having moved on. She had found her own way – her own path in the city. Despite the things that drove her there and all the shit that she’s been caught up in, it’s still home. Karen glances around her room in the house she considered home by default for so long – this hadn’t been home in a long time. Even when she had lived here, it wasn’t everything she had figured a home to be. When she moved to the city, sure, she was alone, but it felt comfortable, and then when Matt and Foggy found her, things illuminated and everything about it felt like home. 

Maybe that’s what really makes going back to somewhere more bearable – the knowledge that it’s not forever; it’s really just a way to keep moving forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wasn't really thinking about writing more chapters to this anytime soon, but this just kind of spilled out along with another proper chapter, which is coming at some point in the near future. I apologize for it being so short, but it didn't really tie in with the other chapter I'm working on, so I split this off to stand alone.
> 
> \- Kevin is Karen's late younger brother - it's one of the differences in her story between the show and the comics. It's never really said how far apart they are; in my head I put her only a couple years older, making her around 18 when he died.
> 
> \- Thanks for reading - I hope you like it, I promise there's a chapter with exciting things and a better story coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Karen Page rounded the corner into the bullpen of the _Bulletin_. It was 8 A.M. and the office was already bustling. Amid all the flurry of a typical Wednesday morning, something was off – the door to her office was open. While it’s not like she had anything to hide, or even anything private in there, it was still concerning. A million anxious “what-ifs” raced through her mind – what if Fisk had caught up with her, what if something had happened to Matt, or Foggy, or what if Ellison had changed his mind… She quickly pushed everything out of her mind and figured there was only one way to find out what was going on.

She shifted around the files in her arms and took a few deep breaths. No need to panic – it’s a crowded office first thing in the morning. Probably just an intern looking around for something, or Ellison waiting with more than a few words about her column for her… again. She had figured that after having her own column for the better part of a year, Ellison would have run out of critiques, but quite the opposite – he seems to have gotten tougher on her writing as time marched on. 

Exhaling, she set off across the office; as soon as she stepped through the threshold, she was greeted by a face she usually saw on bus advertisements – Trish Walker. Puzzled at the radio personality sitting in her office, she opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but before she could say anything, Trish spoke first.

“Hi, Miss Page?”

“Uh, yeah. Can I help you?”

“I apologize for catching you off guard – your editor said I was welcome to wait in your office. My name is Trish Walker, I host a radio show – _Trish Talk_ , we air every afternoon from twelve to two. We’re local, but nationally broadcast live. I read your work, and I think you have a great perspective. I came to ask you about the possibility of coming on the show.”

“Me? On the radio? Why – What would I talk about?”

“The station ran demographic polls, and my boss had the idea to give the discussion a boost by getting a news segment. I’m a fan of your column, your opinions, advice. If I have to have someone reading the newspaper to my listeners, I want someone smart who will give people what they need to know, straight up. Hit the headlines, point out the things people need to be paying attention to, tell them why they should care; five minutes each day.”

Karen sunk into the chair behind her desk – this was too much. First the column, which had morphed into daily advice with an opinion piece every Sunday edition, and now radio? Public speaking doesn’t really get any more public than that, she mused. 

Trish continued in an earnest, no-nonsense tone, “Look, I know it’s a lot to consider, but I need someone, and I think your experience and background would be great for radio.”   
Karen hesitated. Was this Ellison’s idea, talking her up, trying to promote the Bulletin, using her as a spokesperson – that wasn’t her at all. 

“If it helps you decide, you’re welcome to come by the studio today or any afternoon this week and get a feel for the broadcast.” Trish unsnaps the outer pocket on her purse and extends a business card. 

Karen props the card up against the base of her computer. “I’m still not sure that people will really care what I have to say – would I be taking calls on air?”

“Think of it as an extension of your work here at the Bulletin,” Trish started, thoughtfully leaning forward and resting her forearm on the chair armrest, “You’re a reporter, first and foremost, right? What I want you to do is report what people need to know – break down the facts and cut right to the heart of a story. I invite and moderate an on air discussion about current topics and issues relevant to everyday life; the more people who know the topics before, the more diverse the conversation. Your perspective on what’s important, your commitment to hard truth in reporting – I value that; it’s why I want you for this.” 

“Thank you. I’ll think about it,” Karen conceded. 

“You’re welcome at the studio, I’ll leave your name at the desk. Come by, take it in, think about it, please. I think you’d be a good fit for the show,” Trish said, rising from her seat and finishing her spiel. 

“Thank you, I’ll let you know,” Karen shook her hand, and Trish smiled as she bid her a good day and left the office. 

Karen, finally alone in her office for the first time today, sighed and leaned back in her chair. How was she always the one to get mixed up in things? Apparently anonymity in this impossibly large city was just wishful thinking. If Ben were here, he would tell her to use it to get the truth out there in the open. She thought about calling Foggy and asking his thoughts – he’d probably tell her to go for it, maybe she’d get famous out of the deal and get a fruit basket or something. Then he’d seriously tell her that she’s always looking for a way to change minds and get the truth out there, and this would be a great way to do it.

As she opened up her email and started to go through the questions and stories submitted to Paige Angel, she mulled over Trish’s proposal. She was content at the Bulletin, writing came easily for her, even if the ideas didn’t always come easily. Though, if she was perfectly honest with herself, there wasn’t that much work to keep her occupied at the paper. Ellison told her to just focus on her column and still wouldn’t give her a beat in addition to it, and any extra articles were usually handed off to an intern or whoever was lowest in the pecking order that week.

The truth is, she could use something else to occupy her time. Especially since Matt is still out of the picture and Foggy is usually too busy at his new firm to hang out much. If she does take the job, maybe that will give her an excuse to stay later at the office – not that she doesn’t already, despite the lack of work. She just…doesn’t want to go home; the feeling of being alone in that space, with nobody else around, it’s a little terrifying. 

She navigates her email inbox and picks a question for tomorrow’s “Ask Angel” column: “BFFs in Brooklyn” has feelings for his best friend. How typical, and the plot of basically every romantic comedy. She rolled her eyes, though she had no room to talk; it’s a real dilemma: be honest about your feelings, or consumed by the terror of change. Seems like an easy choice to her: honesty, because she’s seen where keeping things from people you love ends up – you wind up losing them, one way or the other.

\---

Karen shivered, suddenly extremely aware that she was leaning against the refrigerator door, holding it wide open, completely spaced out. She rolled her eyes, grabbed the carton of leftover lo-mein, and settled in on the couch. As she picked around the noodles with her chopsticks, her mind roamed back to thinking about Matt. Maybe it was time she forgave him, let him back into her life. As secure as she was in being independent and alone, truthfully, she was exhausted; weary of always being alone. She was friendly with her coworkers, with lots of people, but at the end of the day, nobody had ever been able to replace the gaps left when she fell out with Matt, and then Foggy distanced himself, which she understood. 

Maybe I’ll just get a cat or something, she found herself thinking, they’re a lot less complicated than people. She snorted at the thought of replacing people in her life with cats – that was some crazy cat lady logic, thought the thought of Matt Murdock in cat form (Catt Purrdock?) actually caused her to laugh out loud at an embarrassingly loud volume.

Moving swiftly forward from her ridiculous thoughts, she thought back to the night in Matt’s apartment, they were prepping for the Castle trial. She hadn’t fully thought things through before she opened her mouth; she wasn’t sorry for saying what she thought, but more that he couldn’t understand how Frank stood by his methods, as violent as they were. Of course, in hindsight, knowing that she was talking to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, she was out of line to insinuate that the best way to save the city was by putting down the criminals – committing such a cardinal sin. 

How do you apologize for something like that though – a difference of opinions that she had no idea at the time was so polarizing of an issue for him? How can she even reach out to start that conversation without things being awkward? Besides, the way she left things was…a little cold, to say the least. She had told Matt that until he could be completely honest with himself and the people in his life, that he had no right to call himself a friend, because Matt Murdock was incapable of being there when his friends needed him. It was harsh, but especially after the trial and all that aftermath – seemingly pretty accurate; and when he finally told her about being Daredevil, well, she was more than a little upset for keeping it from her. 

Maybe even the devil deserves redemption, Karen thought, grinning. Because the truth is, she wants Matt back in her life, even if it means dealing with the devil. They were good together - whatever manner of gray area they fell into, they made it work, and she missed that. 

Shaking her head in attempt to clear it of thoughts of Matt Murdock’s stupid face, she picked up her phone. With a few swipes of her finger, she found herself staring at number, accompanied by his face staring back at her from the screen. With any luck, she’d get his voicemail and wouldn’t have to face the prospect of babbling to Matt in real time. 

What would she even say? She thought apologizing may be good start, but she had no idea. It would be easy to take the blame and smooth everything over, but she wasn’t really sorry for anything she said – not her views, certainly not for being honest. All she really knew was that she wanted Matt back in her life – no, she needed him back in her life. The reality was, the feelings were eating her alive, and she just wanted to make things right. 

Outside her window, the sudden blare of sirens jarred her out of her thoughts and back to her apartment. Karen put down her phone – Matt was busy, too busy to deal with her right now. Maybe she’d call him during the day, offer to meet up for lunch or something. She leaned forward, grabbed the remote from the coffee table, and flicked on the TV. As long as Matt wasn’t on the news again tonight, she’d be good.

\---

After giving her name at the front desk in the lobby of the communications broadcast building, Karen was led back to a small room control room with a large window into the equally small studio room. Trish, while listening to a caller, looked over at Karen and waved, beaming. Karen politely waved back, still not sure if she was entirely comfortable here. The woman in the control room offered her a chair and a set of headphones. 

She sat and listened as Trish expertly navigated callers through a conversation about gun control in the city. Karen wasn’t sure she wanted to spend two hours every weekday listening to people be so unapologetic about their destructive opinions, but the halfway commercial break was coming up, and Karen would thank Trish for her consideration, and be on her way. She turned her attention back to the radio feed coming through her headphones, in which the conversation had shifted to discussing vigilantes – is that all anyone ever wanted to talk about these days? The caller was going on about how it’s a shame that lunatics are out on the streets and how terrible it was that Castle wasn’t immediately put down instead of captured. Karen nearly ripped her headphones off and walked out, but Trish cut them off and jumped right in with a rebuttal.

“It’s no secret that New York has a crime problem – with how accepting the city is of vigilante justice, wasn’t it just a matter of time before someone like Castle showed up and reminded everyone how dangerous that is? Yes, he kills bad guys, but the world isn’t divided into just right and wrong; people are not all good or all bad, as some would believe. Keep them off the streets and leave the enforcement to the cops, but realistically, the crime rate goes back up and more criminals roam free. So, which is worse out there, on the streets: criminals, or vigilantes?”

The switchboards sprung to life while she was talking, lit up like a Christmas tree. Her assistant started patching calls through – some agreed, some had venomous words for Trish, but she listened and stood her ground. Karen glanced at her phone wondering how much longer this was going to go on, when the door behind her flung open with a furious smack. Trish looked up and hastily wrapped to commercial break. 

The interruption had come from an incredibly surly looking woman with dark hair – she burst into the studio leaving the door oddly ajar on its hinges, “What the hell, Trish?” She spat; their exchange was all fire, at least from her side. 

“Jess, I’m running a talk show. And I have a guest. What’s this about?” Trish smoothed everything over – she must be incredibly used to these outbursts.

“Going after vigilantes? Trish, you’re going to paint a target on your back. Not only will people come after you, but bringing up Castle? What were you thinking?”

“Jess, you’re overreacting. It’s a talk show, and just because people get fired up about the topic does not mean that they’re going to come after me with torches and pitchforks.” 

Wow. Trish was unshakable. She was right, but her cool demeanor was a bit astounding to Karen. “Are you going to fix my door and let me get back to my show now?”

Still fuming, she flashed a wicked smirk and rolled her eyes, “I thought fixing doors was your specialty, or is that just when they’re not your own?” She strode through the control room and out the door, leaving Trish sitting behind her microphone, shaking her head. 

Karen tentatively poked her head through the door that wasn’t hanging quite right, not entirely sure she wanted to leave now. 

“Sorry you had to see that – that would be my best friend Jessica – she’s a P.I., and a little over-protective,” Trish explained.

Karen half-smiled, “I understand over-protective. For what it’s worth, you don’t have anything to worry about with Frank. He’s … well, not harmless, but he’s okay.”   
“Oh, shit. I had forgotten you were part of his defense. I’m so sorry, you must think-”

Karen waved her off, “No, no, it’s totally okay. I just have a different perspective than most people when it comes to him.”

Trish’s assistant gave her a thirty second warning to air time.

“Hey, listen, I know it’s fast, but would you mind joining me for the last half of the broadcast? You know him better than anyone, and it’s a chance to give people a different perspective, tell your personal experience with vigilante justice. I’ll steer you along the conversation so you can get a feel for it. Anything you don’t want to talk about, just wave me off and I’ll redirect.” 

Terrified, Karen knew that if she left now, she was giving up any future radio opportunity. What the hell, she thought, as she nodded and picked up the pair of headphones on the desk across from Trish.

“Okay, your mic is live, just breathe, I’ll talk you through it. You’re going to be great.” Trish beamed as she slipped her own headphones back on and the “on air” light flicked back to a glowing red. “We’re back with the second hour of Trish Talk, and I have a guest in the studio with me – someone who has some insight for us on vigilantes and the Punisher. I’m here with New York’s own Paige Angel.”

She nodded to Karen. Karen leaned into the microphone, “Thanks for having me on today.”

Trish barreled right ahead with the questions, “Do you see New York City’s vigilantes as a threat?”

Breathe, Karen reminded herself, “Personally? No, Not at all. They save people, good people who have no one else to turn to. I’ve actually had several encounters with vigilantes – the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen has saved my ass more times than I really care to admit. I was also part of Frank Castle’s defense team.”

“You mentioned Frank Castle, the Punisher, what do you think of his way of going about achieving justice?” Trish asked of Karen, seeing she was relaxing a bit. 

“Is he a threat to society? Maybe, sure, but so are a lot of things. You can’t deny that his methods, no matter how unbelievably brutal they seem, are effective. He was just trying to get justice for his family, despite his way of going about it, his motives were clear. He even goes out of his way to protect innocent people – Frank saved my life. I guess I just have a hard time believing that anyone who goes out of their way to save people, strangers, can be all bad. Like you said before, nobody is totally good or bad, we all exist somewhere in the gray areas in between. Vigilantes, they’re just trying to save the city in the best way they know how to. They’re not bad people – they’re actually ones with the best intentions, albeit some of the worst methods sometimes.” 

That wasn’t so bad, now comes the waiting to get ripped apart by the callers, Karen mused. Thankfully, Trish took over a lot of it and went back to navigating the minefield of calls and opinions, until suddenly the voice through her headphones jarred her back into the conversation – She would recognize his voice anywhere. “Ma’am, those are awful kind words, but some people are beyond saving, especially if their methods are, as you put it, the worst.” It was Frank. Why was Frank listening – he knew she was here, was he following her? Karen’s eyes got wide. Scrambling for something to say, Karen gaped, speechless. Trish seized the opportunity, reading the situation perfectly, “Are you saying that motive doesn’t redeem any choices made, not even for the greater good?”

“I’m sayin’ that some people, like the Punisher, need to be left alone – they’re dangerous. Leave the vigilantes alone, they’re bad news, ma’am. Let whatever catch up with them when it does, they’ve made their choice, they knew the life going into it.” 

Click. The line went dead. 

Karen knew there was no point in asking for a caller ID – it would probably trace back to a pay phone, or a diner somewhere in the middle of New Jersey or something. Trish jumped right back into fielding calls and opinions – with the broadcast starting to wind down, Karen’s mind was racing. Did Frank know about her and Daredevil? Did he know about Matt? Wesley? Fisk? No, not the time or place, she thought, as she pushed all the different scenarios from her mind, though she still worried over Frank’s warning.   
The constant barrage of callers kept going on about either rounding up the all the vigilantes and giving them badges or suggesting that the police gather them up and lock them all in jail – neither scenario was at all feasible, from her perspective. However, she had to hand it to Trish – she kept everything running smoothly and the show wound down without a hitch. 

“Interesting points – but we are all out of time for today,” Trish spoke into her mic, cutting off a caller in the middle him saying something about Captain America being a secret HYDRA agent. “Thank you for joining me for Trish Talk, and again, a big thank you to my guest for the second hour, Paige Angel. You can read her daily column in the New York Bulletin,” 

Karen wasn’t sure if she had the energy and mental capacity to listen to, to deal with this every day, but at least it was over, for now.

“You were great, a total natural. They’re not all that intense, usually it’ll just be the news,” Trish said, breaking into her thoughts. Just like that, the show was over. 

Karen sighed, relieved, “Thanks, you’re the natural though,” she responded, “I just followed your lead.”

“So, will I see you back tomorrow, or have I scared you off for good?” Trish pressed. 

Damn, she really wanted her on the air, for reasons unknown, Karen thought. “I still don’t know. I’ll let you know what I decide?” 

Trish beamed, “You’re welcome back any time.”

\--

Stepping out into the cool, balmy night air of the city, Karen leaned against the door of the _Bulletin_ office and inhaled. It was a nice night, albeit a little late to be leaving work, even for her. As she slowly meanders down the sidewalk, stopping by Josie’s crosses her mind. She walks a few more blocks, mulling over the idea, and decides to at least walk past – it wasn’t that far out of the way, and the weather was mild. Karen slips down an alley – a shortcut she knew well, though it felt different. Outwardly unfazed, she casually slid her hand into her purse; shit – she didn’t have the .380 she had taken to carrying. She picked up her pace a little and nervously sped up, heels clicking against the pavement and echoing through the evening air. Nearing the sidewalk, she froze as she heard a pair of gunshots; a man in a hoodie rounded the corner and pushed his way past her. Before Karen could really process what was going on, she heard a soft clatter and turned to see Daredevil leap from the fire escape and take down the man at the other end of the alley.   
Heart in her throat, Karen started towards the opposite end of the alley.

“Hey!” Karen called. Matt’s head whipped around, his hand gripping the front of the now-unconscious criminal’s jacket. 

She could physically see Matt bracing, now standing only a few feet from the man she had been avoiding. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I was…I don’t…” Karen was having a hard time finding the words she needed at that exact moment. Matt slowly moved forward, closing the gap between the two of them. She continued attempting to stumble over the apology she needed to get out, “That night, I shouldn’t have said –" 

“Karen.” Matt finally spoke, cutting off her, “I’m the one who should be apologizing. This, all of this, is my fault. I should have…” his voice caught. 

Karen was a little relieved that she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t find the right words for this. She made a small noise and held up her hand to dismiss him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Matt responded, raw honesty in his voice. 

“Can we not wait until shit happens,” she gestured at the man passed out on the concrete, “to talk again?” Karen asked.

“I’d like that,” the masked vigilante sighed, shoulders relaxing. 

Karen took a half a step forward and reached out, gently touching his face, the warmth of his skin and the scruff of his beard prickling against her fingertips. Matt started to lean in closer, before he cocked his head slightly, and turned away.

“Sirens, probably responding to the disturbance,” he explained.

“Don’t be a stranger, okay Matt?” she practically whispered, before turning and hurrying to get out of the alley, leaving Daredevil standing alone as the sirens move closer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***THIS CHAPTER IS POST NETFLIX DEFENDERS. SERIES SPOILERS***
> 
> Karen Page wraps her head around the recent turn of events.

She always knew this day would come. Well, not always; only since she’s known who Matt Murdock really was.

Still, knowing doesn’t make it any easier. Not by a long shot. As she sits in her office, Karen Page contemplates what happens now. Does the city just continue on like nothing happened? Like they didn’t just lose their guardian devil?

She had meant to reconcile things with Matt when it felt natural, when he was ready to be just the slightly goofy, debonair lawyer instead of living the double life, with that fire constantly blazing just below the surface, threatening to consume him and everyone around him in a heartbeat.

Karen absentmindedly finds herself wondering if Matt can hear his own heartbeat as well as other people’s. Could have heard, she mentally corrects herself. The sharp pang of guilt is back, and cuts clear through her gut. She can’t help but feel responsible for his death – even though logically, she knows that this is who he was, and not even she could have made him give it up. He knew all the risks, and he knew exactly what he was doing. It still doesn’t make it any easier for those he left behind though.

Everyone had decided it was for the best if the sudden disappearance of the devil of hell’s kitchen wasn’t publicized. No tributes, no news briefs, and no articles. This last one was of particular complaint for Karen, seeing how she owed her life to him on multiple occasions, and now she can’t even honor his memory with a piece on what he meant to her, to the community, to the city. It feels like a wasted opportunity, though she understands that it’s still vital that nobody connects the dots between the devil and Matt Murdock.

Matthew Michael Murdock. She hadn’t known his full name until the funeral – it surprised her, maybe at just how Catholic it was? Probably more of the fact that it had all that alliteration in there. That was Matt though – the former, not the latter: too Catholic for his own good sometimes. She admired that about him though: he had morals, something concrete to stick to, stand by, and to hold him accountable.

She briefly considered taking up going to church, before logic kicked into her brain and she admitted to herself that she didn’t really know the first thing about being religious. Not that she’s against it, it was just never a thing for her family. Killing people doesn’t exactly line up with Sunday School values, after all.

 She could blame Foggy, and part of her wants to completely cut him out and never forgive him - but honestly, with Frank…whatever he is, either dead or completely off the grid, and Matt gone, she’s a little short in the friends department. And if it comes down to overlooking a lapse in judgment or losing somebody she’s been through so much with…she’ll happily forgive, because she can’t lose anybody else.

Caring about people and getting close to them – it hurts too much to try and meet new people. They don’t get it, not like any of the guys. She wonders if there’s anybody else who may get it – some of the other heroes who were with Matt? The other people in the police station? It seemed like they were all there because they knew their secrets - like Karen and Foggy knew Matt’s – but that’s not a guarantee that they’ve all been through similar, she reminded herself. And, Matt was the only one who didn’t come back.

She immediately hated herself for thinking that, for reminding herself of that, even though it was true. It’s not like this is something she can go to a meeting for, compare and contrast scenarios, figure out with other people how they handled being shot at or threatened or kidnapped or lied to over and over and over.

The only person she has now that gets that is Foggy. She sighs – she’s clearly not getting any work done today. She’ll probably pick a couple of easy questions for her column this week, something that’s not too hard hitting; people looking for the best cafes or wanting her take on the newest senate bills and what that means for the everyday person, something thoughtless.

But she doesn’t really want thoughtless, she wants to scream her mind – but she can’t. Because the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is dead. And there’s not a damn thing she can do about it without calling attention to the fact that Matt Murdock died at the exact same time.

Though, maybe Matt died a lot earlier and the devil just took over. At least, that was Foggy’s take on it. And hell, he knew him a lot better than she did. She just wished that there had been more time to change that.

Deciding that there was no hope for getting any work done today from the office, despite it only being 10:38AM, Karen shut off her computer, packed up, and headed towards the elevator. That is, until Ellison cut her off. She was so lost in her thoughts that she nearly ran into him…literally.

“Jesus. Sorry,” Karen apologized. Ellison just waved her off.

“Listen, I know your head’s not in the game today, but something just came in,” Ellison said as he motioned her into his office.

Confused and caught totally of guard, Karen follows him into the office and he shuts the door behind her. The office is spacious, but absolutely cluttered with papers, proofs, and pictures on every visible surface. She evicts a stack of binders from a chair and sits as Ellison rummages through papers on his desk.

“Last night, there was an incident in Little Italy. Got real bloody.”

“…So? What makes you think this is my kind of story? Crimes is –“

Ellison cut her off, “It’s not about the crime. It’s about the who.”

Karen’s heart sank – how does she tell Ellison that Daredevil is dead? She opens her mouth to start to explain, but he swivels his computer monitor around to her, and the photos on it leave her at a complete loss for words.

“These guys were hit during a poker game, but they’re not typical organized crime. They deal in construction and property reclamation. But the thing that makes it really interesting? They were hit with military precision.” Ellison studied her face carefully.

Karen gathered her thoughts before piecing everything together. “But, according to the official report, Frank Castle is dead.”

Ellison smirked, “Since when did you trust official reports?”

She grinned – he had a point. Besides, she knew that Frank was likely out there somewhere. Maybe this was the silver lining she was hoping for. She’s just not sure she was ready for a bombshell like this so soon.

Karen digs in her purse for her phone and rushes out of his office. As she weaves her way through the narrow walkways between desks, she shakes her head, unable to keep herself from a grin.

She may have lost one person from her life, but maybe she can actually keep a hero in her life this time, for a change.


End file.
